


A Man Walked out of the Ocean

by RainbowMartin



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Brief implication of evil Deceit, In which Patton is an ocean god, Logince are Virgil's dads, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 09:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowMartin/pseuds/RainbowMartin
Summary: Virgil, a depressed artist, is rescued a beautiful man who claims to be “Father Ocean”. By the time Virgil returns to his fathers’ home in Florida, he is sure that he had imagined the man. But the next time he walks down to the shore, he realizes that he was very wrong.





	A Man Walked out of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> The warnings look worse than what is actually in the story, I think? A lot of dark stuff is talked about but the story itself is pretty soft. I mean, take the warnings seriously but don’t expect pure angst. I’ve been working on this story for a long time but only recently finished it and polished it up to the point where I was happy with it. I took inspiration from a prompt from a writing prompt blog somewhere and I swear I saved it but now I can’t find it, but I’ll link to it as soon as I find it. Enjoy! <3 ~Martin

Virgil Sanders had loved the ocean his whole life. His first memories were of holding seashells up to his ear and listening to the rushing echo of his own heartbeat, how it sounded just like the waves crashing against the shoreline. It was like he carried the ocean inside of him, like that was what kept him alive and made him who he was.

It was the fire that first drove him to put pencil to paper. Virgil had only been eight when the fire had crept through his house. He had been carried outside scorched and half-conscious, and put into an ambulance. His parents hadn't been so lucky, and his older brother was placed in jail with burns down the left side of his face and plenty of lies about what he had intended when he had set the tip of the lighter down against an oil-soaked towel outside his parents’ door.

The drawing had been Virgil’s therapist’s idea. Scarred, grieving, and traumatized, Virgil couldn't feel safe anywhere. The two men who had adopted him, a teacher and an actor, took him to the best childhood trauma therapist in the state. He was supposed to draw something that made him feel safe. So he drew the ocean. Fire couldn't reach him in the ocean.

He grew older, and he learned to cope. But he never stopped drawing the ocean. He went to art school and dropped out after two years. His art had started to sell. At 20 years old, he was almost famous--not  _ really _ famous, certainly not a household name, but there were a few paintings of his that a lot of people acquainted with the art world would recognize.

The soft greys and blues of his paintings still made him feel safe when he looked at them. He traveled all around the world to find more views of the sea. He sat on sandy beaches and on the edge of cliffs with a sketchbook in his lap, and then set up his easel and mixed his paints. Sometimes he would stand there for hours as he painted, and he would always turn the canvas around to show the ocean the finished product, as if to say  _ look, you're beautiful, and I've done my very best to capture that. I hope you like it. _

Virgil scoffed at the notion that artists had to have tortured lives for their work to mean something, that if an artist's pain was taken away, they would be nothing. He knew that was false. All of his best work came from the times in his life when he had been the most happy, when his mental illnesses had lain quiet for a while. And when it was worse, he could barely find the energy to pick up a pencil and start sketching.

He hadn't been able to paint in months. The dark cloud in his mind refused to lift, and he couldn't see the colors of the sea that he loved so much. He knew it was getting worse when he stopped picking up the phone when his dads called him. He was several thousand miles away from home. He knew they were worried, but he didn't want to lie to them and tell them that he was fine. He wasn't fine.

Sketchbook in hand as always, though not a single line had been made on the pages in weeks, Virgil walked down to the edge of the cliff that he had been trying to paint. It was a tall, steep cliff complete with jagged rocks and violent waves at the base. Virgil thought it was beautiful. There were rare, fleeting moments where the water would start to grow still, and the sunlight peeked through the clouds to sparkle on the surface of the sea and consort with flying white foam and diving seagulls.

A sense of numbing calm filled Virgil’s chest. He stood up, his toes hanging over the edge of the cliff. He stared down at the water below him as the wind picked up and the waves began to crash against the rocks once more.

 

He was falling.

  
  


Falling through the air as it rushed past his ears like his own blood inside a seashell.

  
  


Falling towards the ocean.

  
  


Towards his death.

  
  


He was okay with that.

  
  


Falling...

  
  


Hitting the water didn't hurt like he thought it would. It felt more like being caught by something with strong arms and cradled gently. He was being held like a precious thing. His eyes were closed. Maybe his head had struck a rock on the way down and he had died instantly, and this was the afterlife. Or maybe reincarnation was real and he was a baby again. But then why could he still hear the waves rushing in around him like he was being held at the surface of the water?

Virgil opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. He breathed in, and then out. He was laying on his back, somehow floating effortlessly even though he was skinny enough that he usually sank. A crushing sense of disappointment sat on his chest like the foot of an elephant that didn't watch where it was stepping.  _ How am I still alive? _

“Hey, there, don't be afraid,” a strange voice whispered. Virgil couldn't tell if it was inside his own head of if it was out loud. “You're safe now, kiddo. I couldn't ever hurt someone who painted my home so beautifully.”

“I...I don't understand,” Virgil said. He didn't turn his head, still staring straight up at the sky. “Who are you?”

“Don't worry about that. Hush, stay still, and I'll bring you somewhere safe.”

Virgil didn't move other than to shiver at the freezing water. He was being carried as if by little lapping waves swiftly across the ocean’s surface. Rocks whooshed past him as a testament for how fast he was moving. Stunned and confused, he closed his eyes again because the wind had started to sting at them.

It could have been seconds or hours later that Virgil felt the firmness of solid ground beneath his back. His hands clutched instinctively at the wet gravel of the beach and he sat up, opening his eyes. It was a small, secluded cove, and he was alone. Had he just imagined the voice?

Something strange was happening in the waves just off-shore. A stirring underneath the surface, a swelling that looked like something was rising up from the depths.

“Are you alright? I hope you aren't hurt, I tried to be gentle,” the ocean said. “Human bodies are just so tiny and fragile, you know, I've misjudged before.”

Virgil opened his mouth but couldn't answer. He  _ must _ have hit his head, because surely he was hallucinating.

“Oh, dear. Am I frightening you? I can take on a form that wouldn't be as scary, if that would make you feel better. I haven't done this in a while, but…we'll see how it goes.  _ Sea _ how it goes, haha! ‘Cause I'm the sea!”

_ The ocean is telling me puns _ , Virgil thought.  _ The ocean...is...telling me...puns. _

A man walked out of the ocean. His hair was sandy-colored, tousled, and damp. His skin almost appeared tan, but on closer inspection, he was just covered in so many freckles that the pale complexion underneath them was barely visible. His feet and chest were bare, but he wore a pair of khaki pants that went down just past his knees. A bright, kind smile adorned his lips, and the happiness practically shone out of his dazzlingly blue-green eyes.

“Whoa,” Virgil breathed.  _ I'm definitely hallucinating. _ No man who wasn't a figment of his imagination could possibly be that beautiful.

“Hi, there!” The man knelt down next to him, stretching out his hand. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? That was a nasty fall, even though I wouldn't let you drown.”

Virgil’s head was spinning. He realized too late that his breathing was too shallow, and he felt his consciousness fade like stars in the morning as his body slumped over against the rocky shore.

A cool, gentle hand was stroking his forehead. Virgil opened his eyes and blinked up at the man who had stepped out of the sea and was now holding him in his lap. The sweatshirt and t-shirt that Virgil had been wearing were both sitting on the ground next to him, and his jeans were somehow dry. How long had he been unconscious? Was he still dreaming? The man was still there, so he had to be.

“What's happening?” Virgil asked. His voice shook more than he had hoped it would. But then, if he was only talking to a figment of his imagination, it didn't matter how scared he sounded.

“Shhhh,” the man murmured. “Everything is alright, Virgil.”

“You're not real,” whispered Virgil.

“Sure I am. Here, here, touch me.” The man took Virgil's hand and pressed it against his own chest.

_ He feels solid. I don't think I could be imagining this _ . But the alternative was impossible, so he ignored his senses and tried to sit up. “You're not real. Go away.” His strength failed him and he collapsed back down.

The man made a sound of sympathy and stroked his head again. “You were very cold. I've done my best to warm you up, but I'm afraid you're not quite recovered. Lay still, you're safe with me.”

“I don't understand,” Virgil said. “You can't be real.”

“Now, I understand why you might think that, but I promise you, I'm real. As  _ reel _ as a fisherman's rod,” the man laughed.

Virgil blinked slowly. “Okay, fine. Maybe you are real, ‘cause I sure as hell can't come up with puns that quickly, even in my subconscious.”

“I've had a lot of time to make puns, in all sorts of languages. Don't feel bad. I know puns in about seventeen different dolphin dialects.”

“Um...okay.” Virgil shook his head and tried to sit up again.

This time, the man held him down firmly. “Now, what did I just say? Lay still!”

“I'm sorry,” Virgil found himself saying. Something about this man almost frightened him despite the friendly appearance. He had a feeling that the man wasn't someone he wanted to make angry.

“Oh, it's alright, hush, don't apologize. I just don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“Who are you?” Virgil asked again. “Please...I...I really want to know.”

The man hesitated. “It's been a very long time since I've explained myself to a human,” he said doubtfully. “Even if I have been watching you for a while and you have a better mind than most of them, I'm not sure you'd understand.”

“Please,” Virgil said again. “Please, I can try to understand, at least.”

“Oh, alright, then.” The man took a deep breath. “I am the morality of the ocean. I am the consciousness that instructs the tides and the currents, the one who asks the dolphins to rescue drowning humans, who  _ tries _ to stop the octopus wars--though they're stubborn, and don't like listening to me. I oversee the balance of life and death in the sea, and I ensure that the understanding between predator and prey remains intact. I grieve for the sharks pulled from their home to have their fins sawed off and then thrown back to drown, and for the bycatch of turtles and whales in a fisherman’s net who die pointlessly and in pain. If the presence that guards the land is Mother Earth, then I guess I'm Father Ocean.” He smiled down at Virgil, who was quite stunned and didn't know how to respond. “But you can call me Patton.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “You're a god, then?”

“If you like. And I've seen every painting and sketch that you've shown me over the years. They've all been so beautiful. I haven't wanted to appear to a human for a long, long time, and then you came along. I've wanted to talk to you for years, and I never did. But today you fell. And I wouldn't ever let the waters hurt you.” Patton held Virgil’s hand, squeezing it gently.

Virgil wanted to cry. “But...but, um, Patton? I...I didn't fall, I... _ jumped _ .”

Patton nodded slowly. “I know."

“Then why would you save me?” Virgil’s voice broke.

“Because I didn't want you to die,” Patton said simply. “I don't think you're done painting yet, Virgil. So many people have ended their lives in my oceans, and I help where I can, but not everyone allows themselves to be saved. You did. And I've seen your family, when they visit you at the beach while you work. They love you. I don't know if you see it, but they're so glad they found you. You don't really want to leave them behind, do you?”

Virgil couldn't hold back his tears anymore. He turned his face to hide in Patton’s stomach and his shoulders shook as he cried.

“There, there,” Patton said softly. “Oh, you poor thing. You're a bit lost, aren't you? Cry all you want. I can take a little saltwater.” His fingers traced up and down Virgil’s spine.

“I don't know why I did it,” Virgil whimpered.

“Shhh, it's okay.”

“I haven't been able to paint in so long, I was afraid I'd never be an artist again, and then I was standing up there and I was just so  _ tired _ …” Virgil cried harder, holding the strange being around his waist.

“It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright. You'll be alright.” It was the gentle lovingness in his voice that made Virgil break down completely, until he was sobbing his heart out to a mysterious ocean god on a Tuesday afternoon. Patton held him in a way that made him feel safe.

When Virgil stopped crying, it was because the tears had washed him clean of fear and sadness. His mind felt clearer than it had in months and his heart felt lighter. He sat up slowly. Patton was holding his hand and cupping his cheek, stroking away the last few tears. “Feeling any better?” he asked.

Virgil was unable to tear his gaze away from Patton's eyes. The color seemed to sparkle, and tiny grey swirls could be seen now that he looked at them up close. His face was sprinkled with freckles from his hairline to the tip of his slightly upturned nose and down his round cheeks and curved jawline. Virgil’s inspection traveled down Patton’s neck, where even more freckles lay, and then onto his collarbone and chest. Virgil felt his face warm. “I like your freckles,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth, and he blushed bright red as he realized that he had said it out loud.

Patton didn't seem to mind. He grinned happily, one perfect dimple appearing in his left cheek. “Thank you! I spent a long time picking this appearance.”

“You did a good job,” Virgil said.  _ Oh, my god, am I flirting with him? Oh, jeez. I tried to kill myself and now I'm flirting with an ocean deity who saved my life. Oh, fuck. _ Virgil swallowed as he realized that Patton’s hand was still holding the side of his face.

“Thank you!” Patton repeated. He leaned forward and kissed Virgil soundly on the lips.

Virgil recoiled, his eyes wide, his face heating up even more.

“I'm sorry, is that not...I thought that humans share affection through lip contact?” Patton said, looking worried.

“ _ Uhhhh _ …” Virgil had no idea how to respond. “That's usually for, um...couples…? Like...romantic...couples…”

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. This was just too weird and unbelievable. Virgil scrambled to his feet and ran, shoving Patton away from him. His bare feet hit the rough gravel and sharp seashell shards on the beach as he fled away from the ocean until he found a road, and then followed it back to the hotel in the little town he was staying in. Only then did he figure out that he had left his shirt and sweatshirt on the shore.

He stepped into the hotel room shower, trying desperately to scrub the salt from his skin and hair. He was almost hyperventilating as he washed himself. The eucalyptus scent of the little travel toiletries barely masked the smell of the ocean. He could taste salt on his lips from the strange kiss no matter how much he wiped at them.

Virgil only knew one thing for sure. He needed to go home. He had been denying it for ages now, trying to pretend that he just needed to find the right beach, the right scene to paint and his depression would be over. But now he knew it was worse than that. Regardless of whether he had hallucinated Patton, he had still tried to kill himself. He needed help.

He called his fathers that night and talked to them for hours. He knew that he had woken them up with his phone call, since they were in very different time zones, but they promised him that they didn't mind. Virgil didn't explain fully what had happened. He didn't outright say that he had jumped off a cliff, and he certainly didn't tell them about Patton. But he told them what they had already known for a while though he hadn't listened. Pa, the teacher, whose name was Logan, kept calm throughout the whole phone call even when Dad, Roman, the actor, was sobbing. Virgil cried, too, though he tried to be quiet about it.

Before he fell asleep that night, he had a plane ticket home for Thursday. He finally hung up the phone after plenty of reassurance and words of love from his fathers. He dreamed of fire, a fire that he hadn't had nightmares about in a long time, and he woke up screaming, the barely risen sun glowing through his window.

As soon as he had calmed himself down, he got dressed and walked down the road until he found the cove from yesterday. As stupid as it seemed, he had really loved the sweatshirt he had left there. It had hand-sewn patches and it was warm and comforting. That was all he expected to get out of the excursion. He certainly hadn't expected to see Patton curled up with his head on top of the folded clothing.

Patton was sound asleep, looking for all the world like he thought the rocky beach to be as comfortable as a soft mattress. He held onto the sleeve of Virgil’s sweatshirt like a child with a teddy bear. With his eyes closed, the spectacular ancient irises hidden from view, he looked like any other man in his early twenties. Virgil sighed. He wasn't sure if he was glad to see Patton again or not.

Trying not to wake him, Virgil slowly tugged the sweatshirt out from underneath Patton's head. “Shhhh,” he whispered as Patton stirred. “Stay asleep, please, you impossible ocean man.”

It didn't work. Patton's eyes opened, and Virgil once again fell under their spell. “Virgil!” exclaimed Patton. “I hoped you would come back.”

“I didn't mean to wake you.”

“That's alright, don't worry about it. You came back for your clothes, right? I kept them safe and warm for you.”

“You're great, Patton,” Virgil said. And he meant it. “Thank you for everything.” He hesitated, then kissed Patton’s cheek. His lips instantly tasted of salt again. “Goodbye.”

He turned to walk away, but an arm wrapped around his waist. “Don't you know not to turn your back on the ocean?” Patton asked, his voice gently teasing. He pressed himself against Virgil's back, hugging him affectionately from behind.

“Patton,” Virgil said firmly. “I have to go. I have to pack, I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning.” He was struggling not to turn around and give in. He wanted to,  _ oh _ , he wanted to.

“Are you going home?” Patton asked.

“Yes.”

“That'll be good for you. You always do your best work there. You look...happy, there.”

“You have to let go of me now.” Virgil felt like he was talking both to an ancient creature and a young child at the same time.

“I'll meet up with you in Florida, then, Virgil.  _ Sea _ you around.” The weight against his back disappeared, and when Virgil finally turned his head, Patton was nowhere to be seen. Only a slight disturbance in the water hinted at where he had gone.

On the plane ride the next day, Virgil spent the whole time staring out of the window. Airplanes terrified him. The thought of being trapped in a tiny metal tube thousands of feet in the air with nowhere to run if there was a fire made him unable to breathe. But he could see the ocean far beneath him, and that helped. He managed to keep breathing slowly and deliberately, staying awake the whole time.

By the time he got to the airport in Florida, he was exhausted and about ready to cry. Staying awake for almost thirty hours could do that to someone. He stumbled through the airport with his backpack and tiny carry-on suitcase (the only luggage he had) until he heard someone call his name loudly. A few seconds later, warm arms were thrown around him and the backpack was being taken off his shoulders. His hand was pried gently off of the suitcase handle.

“Virgil, oh, baby,” Roman was saying. “You're home, we've got you.”

Virgil buried his face in his shoulder, trying not to cry. “You'd think I've been gone for years, not a month and a half, Dad,” he said, quite choked up.

“Years? It felt like decades.” Roman squeezed him tighter.

“Your father is exaggerating, because we missed you.” Logan pulled Roman off of him so he could have a hug as well.

“I know, Pa.” Virgil sniffed. He let out a small sob. “I missed you, too.”

Logan swayed back and forth, his hand cradling the back of his son’s head. If he had a few tears in his own eyes, nobody pointed it out. When Virgil shook with another few sobs, close to falling apart, Logan held him tighter and rubbed his back. “Let's get you home, my dear.”

“That sounds really nice,” Virgil replied wearily. His fathers led him out to the car. It wasn't a very long car ride, but he struggled to keep his eyes open. Knowing that he was too exhausted to make conversation, he listened to his fathers talk the whole way home.

Climbing into the bed in the room that had always remained his despite Logan's claim that he used it as an office now, Virgil hugged a pillow to his chest. The bed was made with the same soft purple sheets from when he was a child and the same hand-stitched quilt that Roman’s mother had made him to welcome him to the family. Besides the ocean, this room was pretty much the only place he had ever learned to feel safe again after the fire.

His door was pushed open slowly. “Virgil, may I come in?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Virgil debated sitting up, but didn't have the energy.

Logan came into the room carrying a glass of water. “It's important to stay hydrated after a plane ride, the dry air and pressure can--"

“Pa, I love you, but I don't want a lecture right now. I'll drink the water.” Virgil smiled tiredly. “I really...just want to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Logan said sheepishly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Your father will probably be asking you all sorts of emotional questions tomorrow, with all of his dramatics. I thought it would be a good idea for us to talk first, just the two of us.”

“Yeah, you won't get a word in edgewise tomorrow,” Virgil quipped.

“How are you doing?” Logan asked. “And I do mean really. I want you to talk to me, Virgil, though I know that isn't usually my strong suit.”

“I...you know, I'm home now,” Virgil said. “And I'm gonna start working on getting better. Again. But mostly I'm just tired.”

Logan pressed his palm to Virgil’s forehead, brushing his hair back. It was a comforting touch, just as it had been whenever Virgil had gotten sick in the past. “We'll be there tomorrow if you need us when you call your old therapist, just like we said on the phone.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, his voice shaking a bit. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Pa.”

“Try to drink all of the water before you fall asleep, and sleep well. Sleep in as long as you need to tomorrow--I’ll let it slide this once.” Logan smiled at him, looking rather tired himself. “I love you, my dear.”

“Love you, Pa. See you in the morning.” Virgil drank the water as Logan left his room, switching the light off but leaving the door open just a crack to let the hallway light shine through, just how Virgil liked it. He was too scared of the dark to sleep with no lights on, but too stubborn to admit he still wanted a nightlight at twenty-two. He fell asleep.

He dreamed of the fire again. This time, instead of waking up gasping and screaming alone in a hotel room, he sat up in his own bed and was almost immediately being held and soothed by his Dad. Roman had always somehow been able to hear when Virgil was having a nightmare even while Pa could sleep through pretty much any noise.

“You're safe, sweetie, I've got you. I've got you, breathe, breathe. There's no smoke here. Breathe, there we go, my little darkling. Hush, now, you're safe.” Roman was good at this. His husband had dealt with nightmares long before Virgil had come into their lives, so he'd had plenty of practice. He caressed the old burn scars on Virgil’s arm to show him that it had all happened a long time ago, and that he was safe now.

Virgil panted for air, trying to push past the feeling of stinging smoke in his lungs. “Did I wake you?” he asked when he could finally string words together.

“It doesn't matter,” Roman answered, meaning it sincerely. “I'm here, Virgil, everything is okay.”

“I know, I know, just a bad dream. Just a memory. I'm safe now.” He gathered up a handful of Roman’s shirt, holding on for dear life as the last few waves of terror hit him and then faded slowly.

“You've only been asleep a few hours, honey liquorice.” Roman’s pet names always got more sappy depending on how tired he was, and how upset the person he was talking to was. “That's not enough to fight off jet lag. Think you can go back to sleep?”

Virgil had learned over the years that he didn't have to pretend to be strong and proud after his nightmares, especially not to his Dad, who had always seen worse with Logan. “I need a hug for a while longer,” he confessed.

Roman kissed the top of his head. “There you go, sweetie. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know.” Virgil took a few shuddery breaths, trying to hold back tears. “I'm really glad to be home,” he said, his voice trembling.

Shushing him, Roman rubbed his back slowly. “We're glad you're home, too.”

The leftover panic from the nightmare drained away, leaving Virgil even more exhausted than he had been before. He wasn't aware of falling asleep until he was almost out. He was lowered down to rest on his pillow. Roman was still there when he fell asleep to press a kiss to his forehead before he left.

As time passed and the cloud lifted from Virgil’s mind, he became more and more convinced that Patton was a figment of his imagination. He had been so lonely, so sad and terrified, and probably in such shock from the cold seawater that he had imagined a perfect, sweet, beautiful person to talk to. He must have just washed up on that beach by himself. He didn't tell anyone about Patton--not his fathers, not his best friend Elliot, and certainly not his therapist. He was depressed and had severe anxiety and trauma, sure, but he didn't hallucinate.

A few times, he had tried to see Patton again. He had closed his eyes and imagined him, wanting to know if he could see him just by wishing. It never worked.

He didn't start painting again for a while. After a few weeks, he could sketch again, but not the ocean. He decided to try people instead, learning how to sketch proportions and faces and subtle expressions. He sketched Pa while he was sitting and grading essays, his face somber, focused, and calm. Drawing Dad was harder--his expressions were more pronounced and dramatic and difficult to capture, but Virgil was proud of the pencil drawing he had done of both his fathers sitting on the couch together. The three of them had been watching a movie. Dad had fallen asleep, and Pa was gazing at him with the kind of soft affection he rarely showed so obviously.

He sketched Elliot so many times that they found it comical. “Do I really have that intriguing of a face?” they teased.

“Absolutely,” Virgil replied. He added another few lines to the sketch. “Now stop talking, you're moving too much.”

“I think you should pay me for modeling,” Elliot stated. “You ask me to hang out and spend the whole time drawing.”

Virgil glanced up at them. “Hey, I'm a depressed artist, give me a break.”

“We're all depressed,” retorted Elliot. “I’d still like to talk to you instead of watching you stare at a sketchbook the whole day.”

“Sorry.” Virgil bit his lip. “Just one more minute, and then I'll put it down, I promise.”

Elliot waited, fidgeting slightly, until Virgil put his sketchbook aside. “Okay, so I've gotta ask. What's with this new obsession of drawing people? I mean, not that oceans weren't getting a bit stale, but…”

Virgil shoved them playfully. “I don't know, I just wanted something different. Can't I change my style once in a while?”

“It wouldn't be as weird if you had like, literally  _ ever _ changed your style before. But I've known you since you were nine years old and you've never drawn anything other than the ocean before,” they said.

“Maybe I just decided that the ocean isn't so different from a person, anyway,” Virgil said cryptically.

Elliot squinted at him. “Buddy, I have no fucking idea what that means.”

Virgil laughed. “Yeah...yeah, me neither.”

“You're weird,” Elliot said. “You know I love you, but you're weird. You do seem better, though, than when you came home. Or even when you left the last few times. I've been worried about you.”

“I...I am better,” Virgil responded slowly. “Not completely better, but...better than I have been in a while. The new meds really helped. Being home helps, and doing therapy again helps.”

“Good.” Elliot paused, then added, “Have you been down to the beach at all? You haven't mentioned it, and, well, we used to go together all the time.

“No, I haven't been,” Virgil said shortly.

“Any particular reason?”

“Haven't felt like it. Changing the subject now, please?”

“Fine, fine. I'll drop it for now.” There was a long pause. “I broke up with Mitchell.”

“I figured, since you haven't mentioned him once. Wanna talk about it?” Virgil reached out and took his friend's hand sympathetically.

“Not much to talk about, we just...didn't work. It wasn't good for either of us, we both wanted something that the other couldn't give. It's better this way.”

“Did it end...on friendly terms?”

Elliot laughed bitterly. “Not exactly.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Well, no, it's not, but thanks. I'm glad you're here. I missed talking to you.” Elliot sank down across the floor to put their head in Virgil’s lap. “Is there something else you're not telling me? I kinda feel like you're hiding something, but I don't know if I'm just being paranoid.”

Virgil flinched. Suddenly, he wanted so badly to tell Elliot about Patton. His mouth was opening to explain it to them, but he caught himself. “No, not...not really. Nothing important, at least, and nothing to worry about. Just...thinking about someone I...met when I was travelling.”

Raising their eyebrows and looking up at Virgil almost playfully, they asked, “Ooh, a boy?”

“Knock it off,” Virgil snapped. “If I wanted to be more specific, I would have been. I don't want to talk about it. Take a hint.”

Elliot was silent as they sat up and pulled their knees to their chest. They looked hurt.

“I'm sorry,” Virgil said quickly, the sudden irrational anger disappearing. “Elliot, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. I just...don't want to talk about it. I shouldn't have snapped, I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

“Apology accepted,” Elliot said. They gave Virgil a tiny smile. “Sorry for prying.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Virgil groaned. He buried his face in his hands. “I wish I could tell you about it, but I just can't.”

“Did--and I'm sorry, I'm asking more questions, you don't have to answer--but did this person...hurt you?” Elliot asked gently.

Virgil shook his head quickly. “No! No, that's not it at all, I promise.”

“I believe you. In that case, I'm okay with letting you have your secrets. But you know I'm always here if you need to talk.”

“I know,” Virgil said fondly. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Elliot took his hand quietly.

Virgil squeezed their hand. “Interested in a movie?”

“Yeah, something nice and sad. We can both have a good cry.” Elliot was only partially joking, and that was exactly what they ended up doing.

Elliot’s comment about going to the beach continued to worry at Virgil’s mind. They were right, Virgil  _ hadn't _ gone down to the ocean since he had returned to Florida. It had been almost a month. Virgil was pretty sure that had been the longest he had gone without seeing the ocean since he had first come to live with Logan and Roman.

A few days later, Virgil left the house without his sketchbook. It was a fifteen minute walk down to the beach, and another ten minutes down a halfway hidden path that led to a short climb down a steep hill. Tourists rarely visited the tiny inlet, its smooth white sand untouched by passing feet. The water was clear there, and fairly warm. It was one of Virgil's favorite places in the world, and the subject of most of his older paintings. Today, though, he didn't want to paint. He just wanted to sit.

Hidden from prying eyes, Virgil felt comfortable taking off the sweatshirt that hid the extensive burn scars on his arm and side. He took off his t-shirt as well, and then his jeans, putting on the swim trunks he had carried with him instead. He waded out into the calm water up to his waist. Tiny silver-grey fishes darted away from him in a hurry. Virgil knew it wasn't safe to swim alone, of course, but he took the risk. He wasn't alone, anyway. He was waiting for someone.

A man walked out of the ocean. His eyes met Virgil’s with a delighted relief and he ran the last few steps to take Virgil’s hands. “I was so worried about you,” he said.

“Patton.” The name fell from his lips like a kiss. “You're here?”

“I told you I would see you in Florida,” Patton replied. “I keep my promises. I've been waiting for you, but I was afraid you wouldn't ever come again.”

“I've been...busy.”

“Are you better?”

“A lot better,” confirmed Virgil.

“That's good.” Patton tilted his head, the sunlight glancing and sparkling off his damp hair. Virgil felt himself melt, just a little. “I've been walking around human towns recently. It's been a long time since I've taken a human form. There's so much I had forgotten! But humans are just as kind as I remember.”

“Humans, kind?” Virgil scoffed. “You must have only met the few good ones, then.”

“No, I don't think so. Everyone has been kind, and I've talked to hundreds of people.”

“Hundreds?” Virgil suddenly felt protective over Patton. He knew the cruelty of humans intimately, and Patton was beautiful, kind, and naive--the perfect combination of traits for evil to target. “You really need to be careful, Patton. I don't want you to get hurt.”

The side of Patton’s mouth rose in a knowing half-smile. “Sweetheart, no human could hurt me.”

A shiver ran down Virgil’s spine. Somehow, he had forgotten who Patton was. He reminded himself not to underestimate Patton again. “Why did you choose to appear like this to me?” Virgil asked, guiding the conversation away from the previous topic to avoid further mistakes.

“Because you felt right,” Patton said simply. “And I miss having that feeling with someone. You kept coming back and painting the ocean, so you must feel the same way.”

“I…” Virgil looked at the scars on his arm. “I come here to feel safe.”

Patton’s hands slid to rest one at the small of Virgil's back and the other on his waist. “Do you feel safe with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then isn't it right?”

“I'm not sure what you mean by  _ right _ ,” Virgil confessed.

“Us,” Patton said. His eyes pleaded for something, but Virgil didn't know what it was. “I'm here, in human form, for you. I waited because I wanted to be with you.”

“Be with me?” echoed Virgil. He was sure he sounded like an idiot, but he just didn't understand.

“Yes.” Patton looked at him like he was waiting for an answer.

“Patton, I'm still not sure that you're  _ real _ . I've talked to you three times. If you are real, you're some sort of supernatural being and you're probably immortal. And now you're asking me to...what, be your...partner? In some sense of that word, at least, though I can't tell what connotation you're trying to convey.” Virgil was rambling now. “I'm sorry, Patton, I just don't know what you want from me.”

“Nothing you aren't willing to give.”

“I don't know what I'm willing to give.”

Patton nodded. “I'll be here when you do know, then. You know where to find me.” He started to turn away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Virgil grabbed his hand. “Please, don't go. Can we just...talk? I need to talk to you if I'm going to... _ decide _ anything, I can't even consider my options if I don't know what they are.”

Patton’s face brightened with a smile. “You want me to stay?”

“Of course I want you to stay, I...I think you're incredible,” Virgil said honestly. “But I have to know what I'm getting into. Come sit down in the sand, okay?” He tugged Patton gently up out of the water and sat down with him on the warm sand.

“What do you want to know?” Patton asked him.

“Well. First of all, I have to just...make sure I'm not hallucinating.” Virgil dried his hands off on his sweatshirt and pulled his phone out of the pocket. “Can I take your picture?”

“I've seen people do that, with cameras. It's like a painting done by a machine, right?”

Virgil snorted. “Sure, close enough. So can I?”

“Sure. Do I have to do anything?” Patton wanted to know.

“No, just...smile.” Virgil snapped a photo of Patton’s beaming face, the ocean behind him. He stared at the picture for a minute, noticing how his freckles and the color in his eyes stood out in the lighting. The picture was sent off to Elliot with a caption.

_ Describe what you see in this photo pls -V _

“What now?” Patton asked.

“Shh, hold on. I'm waiting for my friend to answer me.” Virgil bit his lip, staring at his phone.

_ Duuuuude omg -E _

_ Is this like, a test? -E _

Virgil rolled his eyes.

_ Just answer the damn question -V _

_ Well, he ain't my type but he's gorgeous af, buddy. Who is that?! -E _

Virgil let out a long sigh of relief. “You are real,” he told Patton.

Patton giggled. “I told you I am, you just didn't believe me.”

“Can you blame me?”

_ No seriously who is that? Those *eyes* jesus, he looks like a fuckin fairy? Is he real? -E _

Laughing, Virgil typed a quick response.

_ You've been a big help, pal, thank you. -V _

_ Anytime -E _

“Now that I've established that I am not, in fact, hallucinating,” Virgil said, “I can focus on more concerning questions. Because your actual existence challenges my perception of the world a lot more than your non-existence.”

“Hey, that's okay. My perception of the world would change a lot if I found out I  _ wasn't _ real, so I get it.”

Virgil stared. “You know what, I'm going to ignore that, because that's really not the kind of existential line of thought I want to go down today. Are you immortal, Patton?”

“Do I live forever?” Patton thought about that for a minute. “Sort of, I guess. In some ways, I've been around since life existed on Earth. But whatever physical form I take, if I choose to take a physical form at all, only lasts for the lifetime of the organism, and I have to follow its rules, or the body dies.”

“What would happen to you then?”

“I usually don't let it get that far, I'd rather choose when to become non-physical again. But it's happened a few times accidentally, and…” Patton shivered. The care-free look on his face faded slightly. “Well, it's not very fun. Takes a long time for me to be fully myself again.”

Virgil tightened his grip on Patton's hand. “But you can just...be whatever organism you choose? Live as many lives as you want?”

“With that body’s limitations, like I said. That includes intelligence, too. I prefer to keep some sort of self-awareness above knowing that I am what I am. I usually like being a dolphin, if I'm gonna be physical. They're fun. I like the way they move and talk, and they gossip.” Patton smiled again. “They play such wonderful games. I try to understand the rules but they keep changing them on me!”

“I can't imagine how interesting being able to live like that is.”

“It's just my life.” Patton traced his finger along Virgil's collarbone. “You're more interesting to me right now.”

Virgil could feel a bit of heat rising to his cheeks. “What is it that you want from me, exactly, Patton?” he murmured. “I don't have much.”

“I don't want much. But to live a human life, to have human companionship, I...I'm ready, again. I tried it once before, a long time ago. I wanted a full life.” Patton shrugged. “That's not how it ended. But like I said, I'm ready to try again.”

“With me,” Virgil clarified. “You want a human life with me.”

“If I said yes, what would you say?”

Virgil struggled to find a response. “Well--I mean, what kind of a life? A...romantic life? Or, um...I don't know, Patton! Do you want to work? Like, a job? What do you think a human life is?”

“I had romance before. It wasn't long, but it was…” Patton got a faraway look in his eye. “It was something I wanted. Is it something  _ you _ want?”

Sputtering a little, Virgil said, “I...yes? Someday? I don't know, I was planning on having a partner someday. Somehow, a god of the ocean never really factored into my plans, though."  _ And yet here you are, and you're absolutely gorgeous and sweet and kind of alluring, in a weird way. I'm not scared of you, even though I should be. And I'm scared of everyone. _

“Then should I leave? I can leave you alone to live your life, if you want,” Patton said quickly.

“If you had left me alone to live my life, I would be dead,” Virgil replied, a bit bluntly.

“Yes, I know.” Patton hastened to add, “And I want you to know, I'm not trying to say that you owe me anything for saving your life. I would have done the same for anyone, it just happened to be you. It was the right thing to do, you know.”

“That's good to know.” Virgil took a deep breath. “Patton, I'm not going to promise you anything right now. Can I come back here tomorrow? Sometime in the afternoon, I have therapy in the morning.”

“I look forward to it!” Patton said happily. He kissed Virgil on the cheek.

Blushing, Virgil returned the gesture. He stood up, letting go of Patton's hands and picking up his sweatshirt. By the time he pulled it on and turned back around, Patton was gone.

Every day, Virgil walked down to the secluded little beach to spend time with Patton. He couldn't help but look forward to it as the brightest parts of his day, though he still spent lots of time with his dads and Elliot. They noticed that something was changing, but Virgil refused to explain it.

He was falling in love. That terrified him. Falling in love with  _ anyone _ would have terrified him, but with a strange, probably immortal ocean god? He was petrified. Though he knew Patton didn't want to hurt him intentionally, he could do it without even realizing. Virgil was just so  _ small _ compared to him.

One day, that knowledge was just too much. He didn't go down to the shore. He curled up in his bed and hid beneath his hood, blasting his music and trying not to cry. Virgil didn't hear the knock at his door or the footsteps approaching his bed. When a gentle hand touched his shoulder, he flinched, gave a startled cry, and sat up quickly as he yanked his headphones off.

“I'm sorry, Virge!” Roman yelped. “Ah, I didn't mean to scare you, I didn't see you had your headphones on. Your Pa was wondering what you'd like for dinner.”

Virgil turned his music off and stared at his dad, trying to figure out what to say. “I'm not very hungry,” he ended up whispering.

Roman sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you having a bad day?” he asked, a rare soft and serious voice emerging.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Would you like to talk about it, my little shadowling?”

Virgil was about to shake his head, but sudden tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly and nodded.

Roman reached out and grabbed his hands. “Let them fall if you need to cry. You won't fall with them, I promise. I'm here to catch you.”

“Thank you,” Virgil mumbled. He sniffed. “I'm sorry I'm being so down today.”

“Did something happen?”

“I...I'm not sure...how to answer that.”

Tilting his head slightly, Roman asked, “Is something particular bothering you, honey, or is it just a general bad day?”

“The first one,” Virgil admitted.

“What manner of bother is it?”

“I'm scared...about something.”

“Is it anything to do with why you had to come home and why you're back at therapy? Do I need to be worried about you?” Roman asked, incredibly serious.

“No, no. It's something else. I'm not hurting myself.”

“That's good to hear.”

Virgil took a deep breath. “Dad? I'm in love.”

Roman's eyes widened. “Ahhh, so  _ that  _ explains it! I knew it was something like that, but I kept my mouth shut. Logan didn't believe me! Ha.”

Trying to smile, Virgil felt his lip trembling. He broke down into more tears.

“Oh, oh no...no, baby, it's okay.” Roman pulled him close. “What's wrong, sweetie? Who is it who's making my little dark prince so unhappy?”

“I'm twenty-two, dad, I'm not  _ little _ ,” Virgil managed, though he clung to his dad like a much younger child.

“You'll always be my little prince. Listen, Virge, matters of romance are my territory. Lay it all out, okay? I'll see if I can help.”

“I can't talk about all of it,” Virgil said.

Roman stroked his back gently. “Can I ask a few questions, then?”

“O-okay.”

“Do I know this person?”

“No, you don't know him,” said Virgil.

“Alright, did you meet him on your travels?”

“Yeah. He...he, um, he's here now, though."

Roman nodded. “Did he follow you without your consent?”

“It's not like that, no.”

“Are you afraid of him, sweetie?”

Virgil shook his head. “Not of  _ him _ , of...of getting hurt.”

“Okay, alright. Does he return your feelings, Virge, hun?” Roman asked.

“Y-yeah. He wants to be in a relationship with me.” Virgil leaned back and wiped his eyes again.

“Do you want to be in a relationship with him?” checked Roman.

“I think so, yeah. Yes, I do. I'm just  _ scared _ , Dad--it’s so  _ complicated _ , you don't understand!”

“Explain to me, then. Come on, I can take it.” Roman pulled his feet up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of Virgil and resting his hands on Virgil's knees.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Virgil sighed.

“Ha, if you think that, then you really don't know me that well, my dear son. I have a pretty good imagination.” Roman smiled. “And I've had some pretty strange experiences in my lifetime. Now talk to me.”

Virgil hesitated, then began to explain. He told Roman everything he knew about Patton, that Patton had appeared to him during his crisis abroad and helped him, how Patton claimed to be the morality of the sea,  _ Father Ocean _ , and how he was sort of immortal but could choose to live a normal life as any species he wanted. Throughout the whole explanation, Roman didn't flinch or scoff or so much as blink in disbelief. Virgil finished talking and waited anxiously for a response.

“You must be careful with those kind of people, Virgil,” Roman said quietly. “They can be absolutely wonderful, good friends and companions, but they are capable of such incredible things that they can never truly understand what it means to be human.”

“You...you believe me?” Virgil said blankly.

“Of course I do, Virgil. I'm going to tell you something that  _ you _ may find hard to believe, alright?”

“Okay…?”

“Do you remember Auntie Drae?”

Virgil frowned. “Yeah, she was your best friend from college, she's been off traveling in India for years.”

Roman nodded. “Drae is a spirit person, similar to your Patton. She's known as the Dragon Witch to some people. She can shapeshift. She's not as powerful as your Patton seems to be, but she is certainly...respectably strong.”

“Wow,” was all Virgil could say.

“Most of them are apparently benevolent, but they don't appear to many people. Drae is one of the exceptions.” Roman shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know too much about them. Your Pa was always so skeptical."

“But what do I do, Dad?” Virgil said, a little bit pitiful sounding. “I don't know what to do.”

“Oh, my darling night child, I wish I could find a perfect answer for you. But all I can say is that no matter what you choose, your Pa and I will do everything we can do to keep you safe and happy.” Roman squeezed his hand.

“Nice sentiment, but that doesn't really help me figure out what to do.”

Roman laughed. “I know, Virge, I'm sorry. How about this: when it comes to matters of the heart, you have to weigh the possibility of getting hurt against the possibility that you might be in just as much pain if you regret not going for it. Do you want it to be a matter of ‘this happened, and I got hurt’ or a matter of ‘what if’?”

Virgil looked at him for a minute, processing the advice. Then he sprang off the bed, hugged Roman swiftly, tossed his headphones aside, and started out of his room. “I'll be home for dinner!” he called.

The sun was already setting. The orange of the sky illuminated the street as Virgil ran down the pavement towards the trail that led to the beach. A light warm breeze seemed to guide him through the transition from soil to sand. When he saw the ocean, his heart felt safe. Bright colors danced on the surface of the waves. Far in the distance, some dolphins were leaping.

Virgil shed his sweatshirt, discarding it in the sand. He wasn't wearing any shirt underneath it, and he ran into the water. The warm sea lapped up against his legs, greeting him, welcoming him.

“Patton!” Virgil called. “Are you there, Patton? I have to talk to you.”

A man walked out of the ocean. His eyes shone clear and bright even in the early dark.

Virgil grabbed Patton's hands before he could say anything. “Patton,” he said. “Patton, I don't want this to be a what if.”

Patton tilted his head curiously. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

In response, Virgil leaned in and kissed him. He dropped Patton's hands to hold him around his waist. Patton took him by the hips and pulled him in firmly as the ocean stirred around them, drawing them closer together.

Patton spoke first when they finally pulled apart. “Did you know that seahorses mate for life?” he asked.

The intoxicating taste of salt on his lips distracted Virgil for a moment. “Hm?”

“Seahorses mate for life. Well, lots of fish do, but seahorses are the cutest.” Patton giggled. “Anyway, that is how long my love for you will last, if you truly want it. And you're the cutest, too, just like them. You're sure you want this?”

Virgil just kissed him again, until he was weak to the knees and collapsed to sit in the ocean. Patton followed him, still kissing him. The water came up to their shoulders. It was warm, comfortable, and their bodies swayed together with the gentle waves, touching each other with hands as light as the seagrass.

Before the sun had finished setting, it was time for Virgil to go home. This time, however, he wasn't going to make the walk alone.

Two men walked out of the ocean. Their hands were clasped together, their steps were in sync, and their hearts were beating in time with the rhythm of the sea.


End file.
